


Viola Sororia

by argle_fraster



Category: American Horror Story
Genre: F/M, Gen, the house that charles built, things that will be jossed by the next episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-01
Updated: 2011-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argle_fraster/pseuds/argle_fraster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble-ish bits and pieces from various characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Viola Sororia

**Author's Note:**

> Violet, Tate, and an interlude to nothing.

"I love you," Tate says. The clock on Violet's desk is ticking seconds down from nothing.

She stares at the stitches on her pillowcase- one of them has come loose. When she runs her fingertips over it, she can feel it bunched and feathery. She's never been good with a needle.

Tate moves to the bed. It's warm, and his hair is clinging to his forehead. She wants to push it away, but she doesn't. She just looks at him and waits for him to continue. There's nothing to go off of.

He sets his chin on his hands. He looks lost. "Do you love me, Violet?"

"Why do you look so sad?" she asks. "You're always sad. It's like you never smile."

"There's just nothing to smile about," he tells her. His fingers pick at a bit of lint stuck to the bottom of her sock. Tate never wears socks. She wonders if his feet ever get cold from the hardwood floors.

"I'm here, aren't I?" she counters. His eyes flicker back up to her face. "That's something to smile about, isn't it?"

One corner of his mouth quirks up then, a bit; a half-smile that seems out of place on his face. It doesn't quite reach his eyes. He shifts and drags himself forward a bit on the bed, hands curling around the fabric of her comforter.

"Yeah, it is," he says. He sounds honest- and eager. "It is, Violet. You're the only thing that makes me smile anymore."

"That's pretty sad," she tells him.

He shrugs. "Maybe."

"Well, I think it is," Violet says. It comes out harsher than she'd meant it to. "It's sad and pathetic, you know that? You are just... fucked up. You're just totally fucked up."

There's a long moment of nothing.

"Yeah," Tate says, again. "You're probably right."

Violet holds an arm out- he understands the invitation and moves up further, until he's leaning against her and the headboard. He smells like soap and rainwater. She lets him dip his head in until they are forehead to temple, and she can feel his exhale ripple through his chest.

"We're both so fucked up," he whispers.

"You're probably right," Violet agrees.

Tate presses a kiss to her cheek. "I love you."

When Violet wakes up, all she can smell is wet dirt.


End file.
